Happy For the Stranger (Johnlock)

16

 John is basically bouncing out of the bed as the nurse unhooks him from the remaining tubes and wires in his arms.

"I can't wait to go home!" He says excitedly as she finishes and he almost jumps out of bed, but I try to hold him down.

"You can't stand up! You'll rip your stitches! Let me help." I help John out of bed and into a wheelchair, where he sits and pouts for a few minutes, until I start rolling him out of the room, allowing him to hold my violin case on his lap and he seems much happier.

"You're so ready to go home aren't you?"

He nods vigorously as we get out the front doors of the hospital and a sleek, black car rolls up.

"You called Mycroft?" He look up astounded as I help him out of the chair and to the car.

"Yes. I mean, it's better than taking a cab, and this is the first time we've been home together in months. I think it deserves a nice drive doesn't it?" I smile softly and ruffle his hair with the hand that isn't supporting him.

He nods slightly as I help him into the car, then climb in after him, making sure he's comfortable on the plush seat.

I reach over for his hand, but when my fingers brush his, he pulls away. "Sherlock?"

"John, what is it?" Oh no, what if he's changed his mind? What if he doesn't love me!? I begin to retreat back into my shell, ready to defend myself in any case.

"What-what are we?" He asks, and I feel myself deflate.

That should be an easy question, but it's not. What if i say the wrong thing? What are we? The question swims in my mind.

"Sherlock?"

I then realize that I still haven't answered the question. I feel softness brush against my fingers and I look down to see his hand on mine.

"Sherlock, it's ok. You don't have to panic, I was just wondering."

"Jo-John, will you be my boyfriend?" I say suddenly, a deep feeling of love for this man growing inside my chest.

"Yes, Sherlock." He laughs. "Yes, I will."

I smile the biggest I have in a long time, I feel my cheek stretching. Lowering my face to kiss him on the cheek, my hand is tangled in his messy, golden hair, the other caressing his soft hand, touching the place where I will eventually put a ring.

Will you marry me, will you marry me, will you marry me?

It would be crazy to ask him.

Maybe, just crazy enough.